Chapter 288 — Certified Unsafe

CHAPTER 288

Certified Unsafe

Zang Ming reined in his warhorse at the foot of the bridge and read the new sign twice.

Then he laughed. It was a big, easy laugh, and the Martial Palace guards behind him joined in a moment later, the way soldiers laugh when the captain does.

“Maintenance contribution!” Zang Ming said. “Eighty stones a wagon! Who wrote this? A child?”

“A bridge keeper,” Lin Langtian said, bowing deeply. He had his sleeves tucked into his belt and a broom he'd borrowed from nowhere. “Good morning, Captain. Welcome to Artificer Hall's territory. Nine wagons, so seven hundred and twenty. Cash or ore.”

“Cash or—” Zang Ming slapped the paper in his fist. “Fool, have you read the Mutual Passage Accord? Article six! No tolls, no duties, no levies, no customs of any kind!”

“Yes, Captain, I know it by heart,” Lin Langtian said.

“Then get out of my way!” Zang Ming said.

“Not a road toll, Captain,” Lin Langtian said, looking wounded. “Bridge maintenance. We still have to keep these planks under your wagons, treaty or no treaty.”

Behind him, Gongsun Ce lifted the scroll. Zang Ming glared at it, and then at the man holding it.

“Third Prince of Great Song,” Zang Ming said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“This prince is a witness,” Gongsun Ce said. “The treaty mentions no bridges. Check it.”

Zang Ming did not check it. The guards stopped laughing.

“This is robbery,” Zang Ming said. “Martial Palace will hear of it.”

“Of course,” Lin Langtian said. “I'll draft the complaint for you. One more thing, Captain. A bridge that carries this much weight must be inspected first. For safety.”

“Inspected by whom?” Zang Ming said.

“By our inspector.” Lin Langtian stepped aside and pointed. “Junior Brother?”

Lin Langtian had briefed him on the way down, in one sentence: “Walk on the bridge, say it's unsafe, and don't smile.”

He walked onto the bridge.

The planks were black with age and the rails were grey. In the middle, he stopped and took the Slag Weight out of his sleeve. It was the size of a brick, dull grey, and the one thing in the sect that no examiner had managed to grade.

He crouched. He tapped it once against the central plank.

Tonk.

The ingot made a dull note against the wood. Shi Feng paused as though considering a flaw in the plank. He made sure Zang Ming was watching before moving to the next one and tapping again.

Tonk.

“What are you doing?” Zang Ming called.

“Listening,” Shi Feng said.

“To a plank?” Zang Ming said.

“I’m inspecting it, Captain Zang,” Shi Feng said, standing and brushing his hands. He walked off the bridge without smiling. “It’s certified unsafe above this weight.”

Nobody spoke.

“What weight?” Zang Ming asked. “What weight is that?”

“Less than nine wagons of Thunder-Marrow,” Shi Feng said. “Leave a third, or swim.”

“A third of what?” Zang Ming said.

“One third of your ore,” Shi Feng said. “Lighten the convoy and it can cross. Otherwise, find another way over.”

The convoy burst into noise. A guard shouted that this was extortion. Another shouted that the bridge had stood for two hundred years. A thin man in a scholar's cap pushed forward on a donkey.

“Captain, I'm the convoy's bridge-wright,” the thin man said. “I can see the whole span from here. The ironwood is sound. It will bear twice the load.”

“Do you have a certificate?” Shi Feng asked.

“A… what?” the bridge-wright said.

“A certificate of inspection,” Shi Feng said.

“No,” the bridge-wright said. “I have eyes.”

“Then you have an opinion,” Shi Feng said. “I have a certificate.” He turned his head. “Zhu Liu.”

Zhu Liu came forward holding the receipt book like a holy relic. He tore out a page, stamped it with Qian Mo's seal, and held it up in both hands. It read, in Zhu Liu's careful square letters: Ironwood Bridge, inspected. Unsafe above six wagons' weight. By order of the Inspector. Under that, in smaller letters: Valid today.

The bridge-wright read it. His mouth opened and closed.

“That's a receipt!” Zang Ming roared.

“It's a very good receipt,” Zhu Liu said, shaking. “I wrote it myself.”

Zang Ming turned his warhorse in a half circle and shouted at his men. Two riders galloped to the river and came back soaked and pale.

“Captain,” the first rider said. “The nearest ford is sixty li upstream. The river is eighteen feet deep here. We tried it with a pole.”

“Sixty li,” Sima Lan said, without lifting her head from the ledger. “Nine wagons, fourteen days there and back, with the oxen. At the rate Martial Palace charges for delay, that's ten thousand and eighty stones of your own money, for a detour. Or a third of the ore. The ore is cheaper.”

Zang Ming stared at her.

“Who's that?” Zang Ming said.

“Our attendant,” Lin Langtian said proudly.

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said, “of the inspector.”

Zang Ming checked the bridge, the river, and his nine wagons. Then he read the deadline in his orders again. He was furious, but the detour would cost him more than the men across the road were demanding.

“A third,” Zang Ming said at last, in a voice like a man swallowing a stone.

“Three wagons,” Gongsun Ce said, writing it down.

“Not wagons. The ore. Three wagons' worth,” Zang Ming said.

“Zhu Liu, receipt,” Shi Feng said.

“Yes, Senior Brother Shi!” Zhu Liu said.

Three black wagons were unhooked from the line and rolled onto the Artificer Hall side of the river, one at a time, with lightning crawling over their tarps. The remaining six crossed the old bridge in perfect safety. The planks did not creak once.

Zang Ming didn't look back. When the last of his men was across, he stopped his warhorse in the middle of the span and turned around in the saddle.

“This will not be forgotten. A gentleman's revenge is not too late even after ten years,” Zang Ming said.

Lin Langtian waved after him cheerfully.